


Howl

by Nicknacks22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicknacks22/pseuds/Nicknacks22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wanted the bite and he got it, but it isn't taking. Now he wants the one thing Derek hasn't yet given him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this while listening to Florence and the Machine's Howl, hence the title. Hope you enjoy!

“It’s okay, Derek. I knew this might happen. I wanted it anyway.”

Derek couldn’t control the tightening in his throat, the tears threatening his eyes. The boy before him was shirtless, torso, pale and sweaty, rising quickly up and down among the sheets. How could this be happening? The bite wasn’t taking. Stiles was dying.

A hand and wrist came up against his face, the same one that, just minutes before, had been between his teeth. The bite marks were clearly visible, angry red at their centers and surrounded with deepest purple; a bruise that would never heal.

“Remember what you promised me?”

His voice was so weak, strained and wheezing. The older man moved in, coming to rest on the bed so that he hovered just above the boy’s face. The colorless lips were thin and cracked as they moved again.

“Please, I need it. Need you.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice broke as he whispered the name.  
It was so stupid now, thinking about it. That had been the last conversation they had had with each other, right before the bite. Stiles, stupid, joking, horny Stiles, had made him promise that afterward they would finally have sex. He would be able to handle it with his newfound werewolf strength, he had said. And Derek, unable to help himself, had agreed. He had killed the boy he loved for a fuck.

And now, despite everything, despite the pronounced veins, the ashen skin, and the dim eyes, his body craved it. Craved the boy who lay sprawled out in front of him. The boy who was so weak, so weak, but still asking for it, asking for him.

“Kiss me,” Stiles begged.

And he did.

He was on top of him, lips mashed together, tongues rubbing, tangling, wrestling, wet and sloppy and more desperate than he had ever felt. Stiles was weak beneath him, body pliant, but the hands that could just barely lift from the bed were clenching the hem of his shirt with everything they had, and the smaller boys mouth and teeth kissed and nipped at everything they could reach. Derek shuddered, grinding his trapped erection into Stiles’ own.

“Fuck me,” Stiles cried.

His claws came out, tearing through the waist band of the boys jeans, and then his own. Yanking them off, he felt one of his claws dragging, carving a red stripe down the smaller boy’s leg. The smell of it, the feel of the warm blood on his hands, it was intoxicating. His eyes flashed red in the darkness. They were naked now, hands gripping and stroking every bit of exposed skin, feeling as much of each other as they possibly could in this moment.

Derek’s senses were driving him insane. Each of Stiles, struggled breaths, muted whimper, and fluttering heartbeats; all of it reached him, hitting him like electricity and arousing him more. He needed to be inside of the boy.

Not taking the time to prepare him or worry about safety, Derek shoved inside, feeling more than hearing the younger boy’s pain. He hadn’t realized it, and didn’t know how long he had been doing it, but he was siphoning Stiles’ pain away from him, taking it on himself. That didn’t matter though, because everything was heat and pressure and mindless pleasure. He moved, pulling out to thrust back in, throwing his head back, hands gripping the shaking shoulders beneath him, traveling slowly downwards to rest over the slick chest, claws digging in slightly, needing to feel something, to feel that heartbeat and life force that was faint, but still there.

His movements were shaky and arrhythmic, kisses rough and scattered, but they were finally doing it, finally together, and Stiles was gripping his wrists, returning the kisses when he could, and crying out in pain and pleasure, and Derek couldn’t help but to think that there was something perfect about it; something perfect in the pulsing, shaking, roaring pleasure that shot through him as he came, something perfect in gripping each other tight when it was over, feeling their heartbeats, one fast and strong the other fading, pressed together and fighting with stupid futility to stay that way. 

“Thank you.”


End file.
